Best Solitary Soul Poems
Oh my beloved,
liberate me from my antagonist.
I feel like a seashell washed
upon an abandoned shore.
I try to leave footprints for you to find me,
but the tide keeps washing them away.
In the asylum of loneliness, silence haunts.
I'm tired of dancing with your silhouette,
because the shadows are always there.
I don't want to be a ghost of your past,
but time has become an enemy without boundaries.
I'm still waiting for you to knock on my door,
so we can once again dance with romance.
I wish I could forget everything and fall asleep,
but I cannot let go, anxious of nightmares,
I've not learned how to say goodbye.
All good has gone, or so it feels,
so I pretend to pretend that nothing is real.
I know a smile is a lie and I'm not fine.
My heart promises my mind,
we'll paint the town red one night,
Illuminate like crimson moonlight,
no longer disheartened by fading memories
but the scars of my heart are like concrete cracks,
my tears falling like titanium drops.
I wonder if I will cry forever.
There's an inconsistency in my sanity.
These fire and ice emotions,
are a repression of depression,
as I cannot escape reality.
You were the most unique petal.
Now I'm wondering if this is the last spring.
I feel like a florist without a flower.
My spirit is vanishing like the winter sun.
Everything is blooming into thorns,
written with blood stained words.
In the blackest night, I'm a solitary soul and
there's a million stars in the sky tonight,
but not one of them can brighten my eyes - only you.
There is no lesson in this adversity,
I have no desire to become a broken heart collector.
I know it's your voice and touch,
that keeps me waiting, anticipating - endlessly.
Instead of questioning the devotion of my attention
why not take some time off from our separation,
because you know my weakness is your strength
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Sponsor: Eve Roper
There was a day last week that I felt alone and sad,
I carried days of grief and would pray for sweet dreams,
I held onto a glimmer of hope when I had an idea,
to get lost in my favorite book outside on the porch swing.
Sensuality of a solitary soul with desires of social freedom,
pretty dear Edna lost inside a condemning creole heritage,
although she loved the Gulf of Mexico and New Orleans,
she had love affairs with charming men during her marriage.
Her appetite for passion wasn’t accepted in the nineteenth century,
she craved lustful intimacy when it was strictly forbidden,
Edna wanders around and finds herself within sexual promiscuity,
in a small town news travels fast, even if she wanted it hidden.
Once wedded to the rich Leonce who traveled far too often,
Edna yearned for the embrace of other appealing suitors,
fantasizing beyond all common sense of comprehension,
alas she was constantly damned by hypocritical persecutors.
Satisfactions and warm memories sooth her darkest nights,
she thinks of her affair with Robert as she closes her eyes,
so deeply did he love her, although she only craved his physique,
she wore erotic moments on her back for a disguise.
Because of her rejection of the roles as a wife and mother,
she was an outcast, a fading woman lost in fear and sorrow,
no more love and lust to quench her deep thirst,
she awakens…not wanting to face another tomorrow.
Drowning herself in the deep water of the Gulf of Mexico,
released her from her miserable anguish she called home,
no longer could another touch her the way she needed,
she ended up living her last moments in despair while alone.
This poem is about the book "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin
The original name was "Solitary Soul"
Date Written: April 28, 2016
AFFILIATION TO WHOSE LAW
If I was law unto myself
What would I be?
Where would I go?
What would I say?
Would I in such a way
Be free?
Or be shown a dark
And narrow path,
Which would purposely
Divert my way?
Would it excite me,
To greet each day
With confidence,
That my every deed
My every word, would
Like a sunshine ray,
Light up my being,
Console my need?
Would I enjoy to grip
Reality and face
War and love and hate,
All on my own,
It seems a lonely trip
The solitude of being alone!
Being a law only onto myself,
Would enable to keep the key
To live my life,
I'd choose to never
Have to strife,
For precious little time
We have,
In this fast moving train
Insane,
Happiness, sorrow and pain
Melt into one!
But being a solitary soul
Could be exploited
By one and all,
Should I succumb to a
World that’s disunited,
And steadily begin
My downwards fall!
What must I do,
Live according
To my own law,
A great many think
That this is wrong,
To be or not to be,
Which decision has
The flaw?
I don’t want either
I keep telling me,
The answer becomes clear,
Only with His Law
Will I be strong!
Many years ago, I’d been seeing
My whole life in front of me.
Like a tale, I could tell how it’d end,
By simply looking at how it begins.
Thinking I’d been born this way,
Without any luck.
With no other options,
Neither freedom, nor choice
to change anything
from which has already been written
in the past.
In fact, it’s nothing more
than a bird’s cage for me,
& even worse than the darkest dungeon,
Which has been keeping me locked up
All alone inside, for so long.
Till I realized I’ve been yearning
Something deep down from within
Which I myself, couldn’t even comprehend...
At the very core of my solitary soul
There was a space of emptiness
Seemed like a missing piece
of a jigsaw puzzle..
And like a pile of love letters
from a long lost lover,
it's been left unread
At the darkest corner of my soul!
Was it about my long forgotten dreams?
Or perhaps the things I’ve wished I had
But never had the chance to become my own?
What could it be?
It’s the greatest mystery I’ve been keeping in my heart, for so long..
I thought it’s just a myth
In my own wishful thinking!
Too good to be true or to be mine.
Therefore, should be kept ignored
Like those unread letters ,
from a long lost lover.
Or as an old file of forgotten
impossible dreams!
That should be left untouched
Until the very end!
One lucky day, I stumbled upon a special mirror!
So different from the one
I used to see in front of me!
Just a simple touch on it
with my fingertips
I was promised of the possibility
To live happily & free!
At first, I thought, it’s nothing
but reflection of my own self alone
But then, I’ve realized it’s beyond
What I have ever seen before!
My lonely face, which for so long
has never known how to smile again,
Had finally been smiling
In front of it for almost all day long.
Till many long days
of waiting & staring at it faithfully
I was at last! able to see clearly
behind its mystery!
Real connection I had
With the image inside,
It finally revealed the truth
Right before my very eyes!
The image of the one I see
in front of me, Is no one else ..
But the loveliest image
of the OTHER HALF of me!
Tingling passion arose as you came close.
Romance rolled to tell ‘we would not stay apart.’
Unfolding your wish you dared to propose.
Emotion was entwined from you to my heart.
Territory of love was built in vain.
Coward in guise of lover came and relation coiled.
Love terminated in piercing pain.
Engaged once I was devoted, but destiny spoiled.
Love not reciprocated always soft and shy
being devoid of demand and passion
hidden sad sullen in solitary soul.
It is gaze of sunflower on
silent adoration to blazing dazzling Sun.
It is nectar secretion of oyster
to form pearl of pain
Beautiful coral garden under ocean
beyond human view.
No expectation to be loved
but to grow in the abyss of dismal.
Still a feeble faint hope for far future
fascinating a miracle
marveling to achieve
sudden response ending in unison.
Bird in a guilded cage, a broken heart, a solitary soul
Road less travelled, a soul full of longing, my heart bleeds
On a wing and a prayer, my heart is a lonely hunter, a weary soul
Kiss the rose, look into my eyes
Endless words, my heart laid bare
No man is an island, tears fall like rain
Words that were left unspoken, over and over again
It's never too late to change, wish upon a star
Near and dear to my heart, when all is said and done
Give it a whirl, as time passes by, my soul is weeping, weeping
Stop and smell the roses, till the end of time
______________________________
May 9, 2015
Poetry/Verse/Cliches/"Broken Wings"
Copyright Protected, ID 05-671-486-09
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
You walked those savage streets
Without a clue
Without a care
You could not see the dangers or sense that death was everywhere
Predators and prowlers...they all look for parts to play
They saw you as a playground
Your heart and soul would soon to pay
Big wide smiles they turned to frowns as they took you to their traps
Those jokers and those jackyls they laughed loud inside your brain
Friendly faces they grew fangs
Helping hands grew iron claws
Loving eyes that showed compassion soon turned evil,cold,and hard
Angry arrows they shot at you
Bloody sickles they all swung
You woke up quick to wickedness
Run rabbit run
Hiding in a hole in a fortress made of fire
You dug yourself in deeper in the depths of dark despair
No one comes and no one cares
That became your new belief
A solitary soul...long lost love is what you seek
Broke down you had to build up from the ground of broken dreams
Emotions...fear and hatred...race like bullets in your brain
Burn the book and turn the page...a new chapter now unfolds
Time it ticks and time it tocks...shooting holes in the savage sun
Never turning back
Run rabbit run
Destiny day it finally came
Those desperadoes would surely meet their doom
Those streets that once betrayed you now become your battlefield
Break the seal...you're now a soldier
And there is no turning back
Because a brave man dies but once while a coward dies a thousand deaths
Evil ones and enemies...they surround you like a shell
Wicked wolves they all were snarling...soon in shock and sad surprise
Now the rabbit roars with laughter as he watches demons die
His weakness turns to strength
His ignorance into intelligence
Beware the beast is coming and his appearance is deceiving
With an appetite and a smoking gun
Run rabbit run
The old oak tree
A lonely old wooden swing
Suspended in complete stillness
Gripped by ropes once white
Now stained with memories of childhood
Frayed and worn
Two decades old
It hangs faithfully to the strong arms of the huge oak tree
Golden leaves hang off the dry deeply rippled branches
By the tiniest vein
Their yellow and brown comrades surround them
A gentle gust of wind sending them fluttering on their last flight
Through musky damp air down to wet ground below
A dreaded smell of death for the non-deciduous trees
The lonely old wooden swing waits patiently and calm
Protected by its giant friend
Memories of swinging up into the air so high
Holding tightly onto thick white ropes
My long blonde hair flowing behind
Laying back but holding on tight
Legs in, legs out
Eyes closed
Swaying back and forth
It feels like flying
The air wafting over my happy face
Back and forth, back and forth
Standing up still swinging
On bended legs
Daring with no fear
Long blistering hot summers sitting cross legged
Making daisy chains for my gran
Camps for the neighbours kids
With old sheets tied to the old oak tree
Telling ghost stories to each other
Plastic cups and saucers
Pretend tea and cakes
A British summer party
Playing hide and seek within deep bushes
Our jungle to explore
Races on the lawn
The smell of freshly cut grass hanging in the air
My pretty red and white gingham dress
Stained with the debris, as were my hands
Nails as green as the Incredible Hulk
School holidays seemed to last forever
The lonely old wooden swing now sits dormant
Waiting patiently and calm
To be loved once more
Hear the laughter of children
And it will
Of that I am certain
As the wind blows the swing starts to move
Back and forth, back and forth
Swaying slowly, a solitary soul
Demonstrating its approval
As I present my new born daughter
From her nursery window
To future adventures in her garden
The last leaf drops slowly to the earth
THE SICK CHILD-EDVARD MUNCH
Ghostly downpour upon not the sick,
but the sick at heart - a child’s mother.
Bittersweet tangle of red - patient’s hair,
dresser, caretaker’s hands. Bedside
manner, sorrowful to the point of death,
but the woman is not literally dying,
her daughter is. Steadfast bravery
warm blanket hue of hunter-green,
orange and blue. The girl’s mother
already draped in a dreary raven habit.
The sick room is passionate - lucky girl
is blessed. She is not alone until
her soul departs. Her mother will live
with a solitary soul-sucking pit, deep
inside of her residual days, memories
tucked away from all her friends, for
she will dread the fire of life - the source
that lit her lamp with strawberry hair,
freckled windsong, a swinging pendulum.
The sick child, already in the light;
despair has a screaming voice,
perceived in claustrophobic space.
One is lightened by breathlessness;
the other is lightened by a broken heart.
Where is this soul in solitude?
Alone but rarely lonely
Never closed it is wide open
Soaring, waiting for a time to be
Upon the winds. On land and sea
And with the tides’ ebb and flow
Telling tales of him and her
Us, you and me as we go.
His fingers wrapped 'round a ready pen
His mind does often ponder
Then he begins to tell his story
And the fantasies drift and wander
The words come to him from all around
Lilting, lulling sounds
They bounce in his head down to his hands
As once more his muse is found
The ink flows fast on paper
As his narrative builds up speed
Climbing up to a crescendo
Grasping with urgent need.
Clutching at sensations
Like a torrent in full flow
He writes with fervent passion
As the words dash to and fro
Then slows again to a dreamy pace
As the reader's senses need to feed
Intense then light then dark again
The words flow to feed their need
Never lost in the written word
Never lost for things to say
His eyes and ears and senses
Are his tools, are his display
When feeding all the masses
With his literary food
He hopes they enjoy the repast
And end up feeling good.
Devour the feast, imbibe the words
Sate your body, soul and mind
Enjoy the written dinner
And let your spirit there unwind
Let it abound like his solitary soul
Then let it come to rest
Let it be thoroughly satisfied
Leave it feel, at last, the best
Cotton Candy Clouds
Cotton candy clouds
Wisp across the world,
Hovering o’er grandiose minds,
Beyond issues to unfurl.
Whiling away to write a poem
To touch some solitary soul and yet;
Could it be that such a poem
Could fly across the internet
On Cotton Candy Clouds?
Minds can turn in contemplation,
To a great state fair with clowns;
Where that fellow going down the street
Is the funniest guy in town.
Where jolly calliope music drowns
And grownups hold big teddy bears
Drifting, drifting to a happy place
Where everybody cares
Neath Cotton Candy Clouds.
War and violence push you so moderate
Through deserts of horror and desolation
Your innocence of tortured and desperate
Child deprived of any play and consolation
Limited plays have now been stopped by your tears
Wounded by snares of atrocities and fears
Afraid you rushed to your mother always near
But one day you no longer found her hug here
Unknown designs of wickedness and death
Carved in your young mind with undefined depth
To lead your innocence of child in despair
Towards tears nobody seems to be aware
Seas separate your solitary soul
From innocence and joy yet to extol
Joy and hope unaware to play a role
Forget the restless war hard to control
Gunfire around taking lives as a knife
Menacing the refugee camps and life
One day you wanted to leave the damned strife
Joining a refugee caravan at the age of five
Waiting for you an unknown and blue sea
Shouting from children aiming to be free
On a boat overcrowded to an extreme degree
Desperate cries of babies who disagree
The stench of a lifeboat burnt by the hot sun
Flooded with moisture and pierced by a gun
Floating on desperation from shores to shun
Hope of elsewhere alive through bites of a bun
Now the cool breeze of present and peaceful countries
Framed by courteous horizons and olive trees
Scented by flowers and designed by flies of bees
Seagulls floating on peaceful and emerald seas
The peace of skies and the landed queue
Disembark on shores here to welcome you
As a child who is worth of caring eyes
And a warming love which has full supplies
The mandolin and guitar,
Singing to each other
Troubadour’s companions
To tell of intimacy and truth
Ringing, singing, clear, clean
Feelings of the solitary soul
That are revealed
Part here, part there, parting ways
Of lovers clasp, tears of parting
Tears of joy
In quite serenity,
That watches, nurtures
Dare to breathe songs of love,
To be alive to all that’s here
The mandolin and the guitar
Those messengers of love
Played with an overflowing heart
The last caress on her cheek
Her dear parting cheek
Can we share again
Together one last song
For what is a bird
If it does not sing,
And what is a heart
If it does not love?
White capped peaks, set a calming essence's surroundings,
A hushed place of peaceful contemplation and serenity,
Time stands still here upon Peter's mountain.
In this isolation's retreat from the outside world,
A lone solitary soul, does lean onto his walking staff,
Pondering thoughts of life's past experiences, and
Remembering days, oh not so long ago.
Here this wilderness man, has a freedom that most
Men will never know, in his personal paradise
Of the forest wild.
Living off the land, did he so hack, and chop for himself,
Taking a small portions piece to live upon,
A rustic cabin built in a meadow's glen,
It's more than enough for him.
A trapper's trade, by God's promised blessing,
Does he make a small living's income,
But wealth's gold, lies in them there hills,
Liberation's breath, to be inhaled, day by
Day with no strings attached.
Outside stands one stone, carved by his
Own hand, here lies my wife beloved,
Spring violets lain in hearts respect, unto
Her memory are thus given, as he wipes a
Single tear away, soon dearest in softest tones,
Is spoken by this rugged soul.
The last is he of a dying breed of pioneers,
Those searching for the next grand adventure,
Just over yonder's distant horizon.
Daniel Boone's back pack fever, runs through
The mountain man's reins, and only death's
Blacken trail, can sever their need to roam.
Leaning against the fire place hearth,
Puffing on his corn-comb pipe, this dreamer
Makes peace within himself.
I've lived a good life, had myself a good wife,
Soon I'll join her, God be willing.
Slowly, he sits within the rocking chair,
And closes his eyes one last time,
Allowing his bones to relax once and for all.
White capped peaks, set a calming essence's surroundings,
A hushed place of peaceful contemplation and serenity,
Time stands still here upon Peter's mountain.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
With my attributes lessened
By those who need less
My efforts so invisible before your eyes
Likely to be provoked for my kindness
I am a divine servant
Serving from the core of my heart and soul
From the deepest depths of my devotions
To the highest heights of your desires
Highly dedicated
Bravely committed
Yet my compassion is so suffocated
How about a little humanity
A little consideration to my faithfulness
I am a solitary soul survivor
Striving for freedom
In the lands of servitude
Through the darkness and heavy storms
Where I learned not to suffer
But to dance in the rain
To feebly endure this heavily pain
Even though
My soul is being crucified
For my morality
My heart is bleeding to death
So as my palms are wounded, yet
I’m still willing to give